


Beware

by Huggle



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Animal Attack, BAMF Mandalorian, Close call, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: An attack forces the Mandalorian to set down in order to make repairs.The area, isolated, with no life forms that he can detect, seems safe.Unfortunately for him, it isn’t.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 131





	Beware

**Author's Note:**

> Four eps in and I’m loving it; just had to get this wee fic out.
> 
> is there anything cuter than protective Baby Yoda and dad!Mandalorian?
> 
> I’ve honestly never been a Star Wars fan, but this show is making me want to watch those films.

He couldn’t, in honesty, describe setting down the ship as a landing. It was more a barely controlled plummet, and he found himself gripping the controls tightly and hoping the starboard engine would hold out long enough…

It sparked, sputtered, and died just as the landing gear touched down, causing the ship to jump forward, scraping the metal feet along the ground before the ship finally came to rest.

Hurriedly shutting everything down, the Mandalorian sat back in the pilot’s chair; for a moment, the only sound was his breathing, coming hard and fast inside his helmet, and the _tick-fizzle_ as the port engine settled, strained from bearing all their load, even if just for those few precious seconds.

That, and a giggle, and he turned to see the child smiling back at him, as if that was the best adventure ever.

It beat squeals of terror, for certain, and he knew it showed a certain level of faith the kid had in him to get them out of dangerous situations.

It might also be that this wasn’t the second, or even the third time in recent months that they’d had to come in hard and fast because another bounty hunter, and even some space pirates, had decided to try and catch them.

Maybe it was time to try and disguise his ship; it wasn’t like he could, or would, replace her.

Standing up, he turned and lifted up the kid, depositing him gently in the pilot’s seat.

“Stay here. I mean it. Actually stay right there. Do not get down from that seat. Alright?

Dark eyes met his gaze, and he sighed. It never worked, but he wasn’t about to stop trying, especially when he didn’t know too much about where they’d landed.

Closing the cockpit doors behind him, he went down to the first level, and then lowered the hatch and ventured out, blaster drawn.

As they’d hit the atmosphere and dropped fast enough he’d been sure both engines had been damaged, they’d passed over a small settlement. 

It was miles back that way, now, and from the quick scan his ship had done automatically as they’d flown over it, there was little to no technology present.

If they needed help to fix the ship, and that was the only population centre nearby, they were in trouble.

But the first thing he had to do was secure the perimeter; just because he hadn’t spotted anyone as they came in for a crash landing, didn’t mean there wasn’t anybody about.

He’d been a little busy so he could have missed someone.

He stepped out from the cover the ship provided, and glanced around, letting his visor scan the area.

He’d managed at least to set them down on solid rock, even if it was a little uneven.

Just beyond was sand. In all directions, sand and more sand, rippling in irregular peaks and valleys for some miles.

Landing there would have been catastrophic.

But at least there were no life forms he could detect, for now anyway, not even any droids, and he holstered his blaster before turning to check the engine.

There was a chewed up piece of metal tangled deep inside the nacelle, and the casing itself had a fair sized dent.

Other than that, the ship seemed okay, and he had the tools at hand to fix both problems.

Someone cooed at him, and he sighed as he looked down to find the child looking back up at him.

“Okay,” he said, when the little one raised his arms. “Come on and we’ll see if you can help.”

««

Prying loose the metal wreckage was simply enough; it looked like a part of the ship he’d shot down, the one that had dropped out of nowhere and opened fire on them.

He ran the engine after, just enough to be sure nothing was punctured or that any other piece had broken off and was still jammed in there, but it was fine.

That just left the dent.

There was a panel hammer in the repair kit, and for this he did have to set the child down, on a blanket he’d set on the ground.

 _New rule_ , he’d explained to the small one. He could stay out here, provided he didn’t leave the blanket.

A couple of toys ought to keep him occupied long enough for the Mandalorian to hammer out the dent and then they could be on their way before anybody else came looking for them.

Hefting the hammer, he checked the engine had cooled enough, and then leaned in to where he could reach the battered panel.

He tapped lightly at first, making sure of his position, and then began to really whack at it, the charge contained within the hammer providing additional force.

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

Out here, with no other noise than the happy gurgles of the child, the sound carried.

More so than that, he could feel the reverberations through his armour, along his arm, and down the platform he was standing on.

Just as well there was no one else out here; the last thing he needed was someone coming over to see what the noise was.

««

Finally, he was done. He set the hammer down, arm aching from fingers to shoulder with beating out the panel, and he started to climb down from the platform.

The baby was suddenly silent, and he looked down sharply, expecting to find the little womp rat with something in his mouth, probably somebody that shouldn’t be there, but inside he was peering out towards the sands.

He didn’t look happy.

In fact, he looked scared.

The Mandalorian turned in that direction, but there was no one there, and his helmet wasn’t picking up anybody either.

Still...

He half turned back to the child. “What is it? What do you see?”

The child flinched, and he had barely enough time to turn before something fastened around his wrist and squeezed.

The pain was sharp, immediate, and his hand went numb. His blaster fell from his grip, but before he could try to retrieve it with his other hand, he was jerked around and off balance.

A tentacle protruded from the patch of sand that started just beyond the front starboard strut. It was stretched taut, now, tapering to a still impressive width that was fastened around his limb.

And yet even though he was looking at it, his helmet couldn’t pick anything up.

He yelped as he was pulled towards the sand, dug in his heels, and then another tentacle appeared, and another.

One wrapped around his waist, the other around his thigh, and he was hauled off his feet.

“Get back,” he yelled to the child, who was squealing in fear. “Get back! Go inside!”

Desperate, he dug the fingers of his free hand into the rock, but against the might of whatever creature held him, he couldn’t maintain his grip and then he was being pulled towards the sand.

A swollen outline was now visible, something rounded, perhaps four or five feet across.

When he hit the sand, the first thing he noticed was it was damp.

It hadn’t been before but now, instead of being pulled into the dry shifting mass, he was actually sinking.

It was quicksand.

He didn’t understand how, but got his answer when a horrid looking protuberance, lined with row after row of inwardly jagged teeth, belched a thin black liquid out of its mouth.

The sand around it became saturated, and more tentacles appeared, pushing that towards the Mandalorian as drier sand sifted in to take its place.

He flailed, grabbing for his knife, as those tentacles pulled him closer to that mouth.

He couldn’t let it kill him. If it did, then it could easily finish the child, too; if it didn’t, if it had been fed enough and went away, there would still be no one left to care for him.

He’d either starve or die of thirst or exposure, or some bounty hunter would find him alone and unprotected.

Or maybe something else out there, some other predator, would show up for easy pickings.

And then he was yanked under the surface, the child’s shriek the last thing he heard before the sand piled thickly on top of him.

««

The helmet saved him.

Without it, drowning or suffocating or both would have happened very quickly. 

As it was, the liquefied sand still began to seep up inside, but slowly. It might only give him another minute, a few seconds, but it was something, and he still had one free hand.

Drawing his knife, blinded by darkness, was like fighting gravity; the quicksand was a heavy weight, and it didn’t seem to be encumbering his attacker at all.

But he was closer to its mouth, not something he was comfortable with at all. Still that presented an opportunity.

He drove his knife into the mouth, punching with the blade, again, again, again, until his arm trembled with the effort.

Another tentacle lashed out, aiming to stop him, but he twisted the blade so that the limb impaled itself on it, and he felt, rather than heard, a roar of pain.

The tentacles loosened.

It was enough for him to pull free, but he was buried alive, the sand now over his mouth, filling his ears, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength enough to get out.

But he had to. He made swimming motions, pulling himself up towards the surface, hoping he’d either killed the monster beneath him, or at least injured it enough to discourage another attack.

Finally, his head broke the surface.

But he was two feet at least from the rock, and he couldn’t seem to reach it..

A tentacle pushed its way out of the quicksand, and plopped clumsily down near him.

So he had hurt it, enough to slow it down; the limb wriggled lethargically, inching towards him, but he wasn’t about to get snared again.

He strained reaching for the rocky ground, trying to kick towards it.

And then something gave him a tug.

He was pulled, not backward as he’d feared, not closer to those tentacles, and that horrible mouth, but forward.

Towards the rocky patch, towards the ship, towards….

The child.

Those tiny hands were reaching towards him, and he could almost feel them taking hold of him and then pulling him the rest of the way to safety.

He fell flat, and it took him a moment to realise he couldn’t breathe at all

His helmet was now packed with the wet sand, and he grabbed at it, ready to yank it clear, when something that was not the child touched his leg.

He needed his blaster. It was close, but he couldn't see now even though he was back on solid ground, was finding it hard to think with damp sand pressed against his face, but then it was in his hand, pushed into his hold, and he rolled onto his back, aimed, fired.

Again, again, again and even through the material sealing him in his helmet, he heard the thing’s death throes before it was all suddenly silent.

Dropping the weapon, he clawed at the helmet, but it felt glued to him. His chest hurt so badly, the need for air beyond desperate, and he pushed as hard as he could.

It moved slowly, each inch a desperate but temporary victory, and then finally it was off.

He let it fall to the ground, and began to retch, trying to clear his airways of the stuff that had gotten in to clog them.

It just didn’t seem to be working, and he collapsed onto his back, refusing to accept that he could have made it out of the sand, out of the clutches of a hungry predator only to smother on solid ground.

He didn’t even have the energy for panic.

Something touched his forehead, a familiar sensation, and he hated that the child would see this, that he was abandoning him when every day saw the kid need him more.

And then he could breathe.

He coughed, sneezed, spraying clots of damp sand everywhere, and rolled onto his side, wheezing.

His lungs felt crushed, his ribs were a solid block of pain, but the child touched him again.

It did nothing for his hurts, but he calmed almost immediately, and reached up to take the little one’s hand.

“Thank you,” he said.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, until he felt able to turn onto his knees.

His helmet would need thoroughly cleaned before he could put it on, but right then they had to get out of there.

One such creature had snuck up on him without him being aware, its approach only obvious to the kid; for all he knew there might be another one lurking nearby, just ready to attack.

He forced himself to his feet, and scooped up the child and his helmet. The hammer, the platform, they could be replaced.

He sealed the ramp behind them and quickly made his way to the cockpit.

The engine caught on the first attempt, and he had them airborne in moments.

The last thing he saw of their impromptu landing zone was something reaching slyly out of the sand, catching hold of the platform he had stood on while repairing the engine, and dragging it rapidly to the rocky plateau’s edge.

««

Autopilot turned on, the Mandalorian turned to look at the child. He seemed fine, no ill effects from witnessing the attack, or using his unexplained abilities to rescue his guardian three times.

Picking the child up, he exited the cockpit and went along to his quarters. 

The little one watched him intently as he set his helmet down on the bed, and cooed with concern as the Mandalorian stripped off his armour.

He was bruised wherever those tentacles had hold of him, and he still felt as though his nose and throat was packed with sand.

The child didn’t seem to mind staying put if he was reasonably close, so he hoped he could shower, quickly. 

He watched the grainy sludge sluice away, and let the steam penetrate, bringing on a coughing fit that saw him vomiting and sneezing up the last of the gunk still in his tubes.

Drying off as quickly as he could, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went back through.

The child had his helmet and was shaking out as much of the sand as he could.

The Mandalorian watched him and then sat carefully down beside him.

“Thank you,” he said. There was still a lot to be done for it to be wearable again, but barring another surprise attack, he had time.

For now, reaching for his medical kit, he needed to treat his injuries, feed the child first and then he could see to cleaning off his helmet and his armour.

And see if there was some way to make sure his helmet was never fooled like that again.


End file.
